


Damn Colds!

by myheartsegg



Category: Homestuck
Genre: M/M, Sick boys
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-09-13
Updated: 2013-12-02
Packaged: 2017-12-26 10:16:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 12,716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/964781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/myheartsegg/pseuds/myheartsegg
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John has come down with a cold AND fever, and Dave came to visit. What happens when Dave comes with... The dreaded Buckley's?! <br/>Has been extended to more chapters due to popular request. Rated M for some mild swearing and Lemon later on. <br/>Disclaimer: I don't own Homestuck, but I can still ship, can't I?<br/> *whispers* Psst... Dave gets sick.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. John's Cold, Dave's Visit: Buckley's

"Ughhh..." Moaned John. How is it that he caught a cold at the end of summer? The time of the year right before the start of fall, and the end of summer was when he was weakest... And he even got a fever!

"You okay dude?" Asked a familiar voice. It was smooth and relaxed, under layered with a tinge of worry that under normal circumstances would never be heard.

A cool hand brushed against his burning forehead and John shivered under it's touch. "Dave...?" John slurred. "What are you doing here? I thought you were going to do a big gig tonight...?"

"The gig can be rescheduled. I came to visit you since your dad told me you were stuck in bed with a cold  _and_  fever."

John felt Dave shrug, the air beside him swishing silently and giving him the tell-tale gusts that ghosted over his face and making an image of Dave casually shrugging appear in his foggy brain.

Struggling to open his eyes, John frowned in concentration. "Mmnnn... I can't... open my eyes..." He mumbled weakly to his friend.

"S'kay. Don't need to. You already know how I look. How could you ever forget this face of mine?" Dave responded with sarcasm coating his voice.

John was sure that his ironic visitor was grinning, his blood red eyes shining behind his dark shades.

"So...? Are you gonna help me open my eyes or what? I wanna see you." John drawled. He tried to speak as clearly as he could, but the cold was messing with his head and making it clouded.

Every part of his body felt heavy and limp. He bet that even if the trolls came barging into his room naked, he'd still be as weak and lifeless as the morning he woke up with the cold.

He could hear a light sigh, and felt movement on the right of his bed. In one fluid movement, Dave pulled a chair and languidly sat in it with the suave that could only be pulled off by a Strider. Even doing such a simple action made him seem... cool.

Feeling the temperature in his face rising, John sunk deeper into his covers and groaned. His head hurt. Thinking of his crush was distracting enough, but with him right beside him and the cold muddling his brain, John was starting to feel a bit overloaded.

"Hey, did you take your medicine yet? Your dad sent me up here with a bottle of Buckley's, so I assumed you refused to take it, huh."

"There is  _no way_  I am drinking that stuff. It's  _nasty_." John said with a sour expression, his eyes still closed.

"It tastes awful, but it works." Quoted Dave with a small smirk, shaking the bottle thoroughly. The syrup inside sloshed with a menacing, " _Slosh! shlop! smlok!"_

John cringed as he heard the twisting of the child proof cap being undone and sunk further down his small bed.

Beads of sweat started pouring down his neck as the thick brown liquid could be heard filling a small plastic spoon.

"Ugh... I really-" John stopped short as something hard and flexible was shoved into his mouth and a bitter flavor started spreading across his taste buds.

"Mmm!" John protested, gagging. He lifted his right arm with effort from under the covers, and gripped Dave's wrist, trying to pull out the plastic spoon from his mouth.

The arm held firm, and the spoon tipped a bit, the contents spilling over and down his throat.

**_Ewww..._ **

John tugged a bit more forcefully this time, trying to remove the utensil that was abruptly shoved past lips  _while_  he was talking.

"Nnn!" John struggled, trying not to barf. He hated Buckley's. It was the worst medicine in the world aside from Benylin. "Mmhhh..." John keened pitifully.

"Swallow." Was all he heard. Dave's voice was low, almost like a growl. It was... sexy.

An image of Dave shirtless during summer break popped into his vision and left John a bit stunned at the sudden memory.

He swallowed with an audible " _gulp!_ " and tried to keep whatever he had in his stomach from coming up. The spoon slipped out from between his lips, scraping his buck teeth.

"Good boy." Dave said with a chill voice; as if he had never tried to just kill his best friend with a dreadful poison.

" _Blech_... Gross! Dave, why did you do that?!" John shouted, face flushed and angry. His eyes were open now.

"I did it cause you were sick, obviously." Dave said nonchalantly.

John wasn't happy. Being made to drink your most hated medicine by your best friend? Not cool.

Scrunching up his face in disgust, John hung his tongue out the side of his mouth and shook his head lightly, trying to get rid of the acrid taste.

He stopped swinging his head like a dog's and glared at his best friend, more than a little pissed off.

"See me now?" Dave said with a chuckle and John's favorite lopsided grin.

This caught him by surprise, and John's eyes widened a little as he just stared at Dave standing in front of him.

"Y-yeah..." He grumbled, his anger nullified. How could be angry at him with a face like that? But then again, Dave  _always_  had a face like that.

Handsome, charming, striking, and totally aloof. He was the coolest guy (maybe other than Bro?) that anyone would ever see in their lifetime.

Sighing, John closed his eyes and leaned back on his flattened pillows. The medicine's affects were starting to kick in, and he suddenly felt drowsy. "So, when is your gig rescheduled to?" John asked groggily.

"Next Friday." Dave said without missing a beat. "Most likely you'll be better by then."

"What are you? My doctor?" John said, smiling sleepily. He couldn't help it. Dave made him ultra happy, just showing concern for him...

"..."

Painful light hit his right eye as his lids were pulled open. "Nnyeh!" John squeaked. Grunting in pain, he opened the other eye and focused his vision on the platinum blonde whom's hand was on his face, prying his eyes open.

"Mnnn...? What is it? What?" John slurred, half awake and confused. He hadn't even noticed his eyes closing. Wow, that stuff was potent.

Furrowing his brows, John again asked sluggishly, "Wha...?"

"You can't fall asleep yet, I didn't get a goodbye or goodnight." Dave said, as if it were the most natural thing in the world to wake up a sick friend forcibly just to get a farewell.

Sighing (albeit a bit contentedly), John mumbled happily, "Goodnight Dave, bye, I'll be there to see you on Friday."

"What are you talking about? I'm going to visit you again tomorrow to check up on your health. I'll bring some soup and more Buckley's."

John groaned at the thought. Even though he dreaded the arrival of the medicine, he didn't mind the thought of having Dave visit him while he was sick.

"Okay! I'll see you tomorrow, so goodnight." John said, looking dreamily up at his crush.

"Yeah. See ya tomorrow Egderp." Dave gave a small wave over his shoulder at the door frame and flicked off the lights, closing the door on his way out.

Sighing happily in the darkness of his room, John slept well with the thoughts of seeing his friend again the next day.  _ **I'm looking forward to tomorrow**_ , John thought as he drifted off into a good dream.


	2. John's Cold, Dave's Visit: Kiss

**_My head hurtsss..._ **

That was the first thought that went through John Egbert's head as he woke up, sun shining down mercilessly from between his half drawn curtains.

The rays of light filtered through the blue cloth, and struck his face in such a way that it engulfed only the top of his messy black nest of severe bedhead, including his closed eyelids up to the bridge of his nose.

'Mnnnehh..." John drawled, shuffling restlessly underneath his heavy covers.  _Cough cough_.

"Oww... Too bright..." He moaned pitifully, unable to move well. Forget even getting up and closing the curtains properly, he couldn't even feel his limbs, much less the brain that controlled them!

Scrunching up his face in pain, John turned his head as best he could to divert the searing light from his eyelids. He was starting to see dots dance in the partial darkness behind them.

_Cough_.

**_Uhhhh... I feel awful..._** John thought to himself, groaning.

His throat was parched, his body was heavy, he couldn't feel his limbs, and his stomach was growling like a starved beast... which it  _was_.

_**Did the cold get worse?**_ John thought absently.

"Muhhh..." He groaned again.

"Alright, alright, Egderp. Don't need to keep making noises. I'll get it."

John's eyes flew open with effort to see Dave get up from the desk chair he had sat on yesterday; making his way silently over to the window and gently pulling the curtains completely closed, the cloth becoming a solid and continuous wave without breaks.

Sighing in relief, John's now opened eyes wandered around his room, trying to get a bearing on which way he was lying.

He could see the ceiling, so he was lying on his back... But... Why did it seem that the world had shifted sideways?

He refocused on Dave, as his friend approached with a smooth gait that seemed off from the usual... Wait. Why was he upside down?

Coming to a halt by his friend's bedside, Dave loomed above John, and with one deft swoop, bent down half way, hooked his fingers behind Egbert's mop of hair, and pulled John's whole upper body into a sitting position.

Dazed, John blinked in confusion. What just happened? John stared at Dave with a blank expression, his brain trying to make sense of what had just occurred.

"Hey, Egbert, You alright? You look kinda out of it." Dave waved a hand in front of John's face, bringing back his best friend's attention.

"Huh? What? Oh." Now it all made sense. John was lying horizontal on the small bed, his head hanging off the side while he slept for who knew how long.

"What time is it?" He croaked, throat dry and scratchy. A frown had crept on to his face as the blood rushed from his head, down.

Dave handed John a glass of clear liquid which he assumed was water and eagerly guzzled it down.

Replying with a sarcastic tone, Dave said, "Time to wake up and take your medicine Egderp." (This was done ironically of course)

Sputtering a little on his water, John started to choke on his cool beverage. "W-What!"

Placing down his cup, John got a small flashback of the day before, when his friend had promised to bring soup and more Buckley's.

Smirking, Dave lifted up his left hand from behind his back to reveal the dreaded medicine, the brown liquid darker and denser than the tinted bottle that contained it.

Groaning, John recoiled, and hid under his covers with a resolute "No!"

"C'mon Egbert, Buckley's waiting..."

John could feel the end of the mattress dip, and the springs creaked a little under Dave's added weight.

"No! I am  _not_  going to take that stuff again! Even if you have force feed me!" John screamed hoarsely from beneath his multiple layer of blankets.

"Is that a challenge I hear Egderp?"

Oops. That was a bad idea on John's part for suggesting something like force feeding. Apparently, his ego was still feeling a bit sore from yesterday's bout with the spoon that so _rudely_  interrupted him  _while_  he was speaking.

"N-No..." John stuttered from within his mound.

"Sounds like one to me." He heard Dave say briefly, before feeling the blankets being gripped with a firm hand.

_**Eek.** _

The blankets were ripped off John, despite his efforts to hold on to what material he could grasp. A rush of oxygen returned to his lungs, his carbon-dioxide and cloth barrier gone.

In a flash, John was pinned to his bed, eyes wide, hair frizzy, clothes rumpled, and face flushed. The Strider's knees held down John's triceps parallel to his shoulders, and his legs were locked by Dave's own.

_**Oh gog...** _

The platinum blonde was sitting on John's heaving waist, Sunglasses still in place, hair as perfect as always, and Buckley's still held in his left hand, while in his right, he held a  _metal_  spoon. An upgrade from yesterday's nightmare.

The soft ruffling of his blankets were the only distraction in the awkward (for John) silence, as he gazed up at his captor.

Still holding a perfect poker face as ever, Dave merely said, "If you wanna come to my gig on Friday, you have to fucking get better."

John merely nodded slowly and rather dumbfounded. "Does this mean I have to take the Buckley's? Cause I can still get better without it, you know?" He hoped he could weasel his way out of this one, but in the back of his mind, he already knew the answer.

"No way."

"Please?"

"Seriously?"

"Yeah, please."

"No."

"Shit."

"..."

"..."

John was about now seriously embarrassed. His best friend and crush was  _sitting_ on him, and he was pinned to  _his_  bed, helpless, and to the mercy of his attacker.

Feeling the blood rush around his body, John started to get restless. The blood was starting to flow in two directions. One to his head - making him blush, and the other direction headed to his nether regions...

"-ave." John whispered almost voicelessly

"D-Dave!"

"Hmm?"

"G-get off me!"

"Why?"

"I-I-I... You have to get off me now, for your own good!" John stuttered nervously, blood pumping furiously in his veins now.

_**Not good...** _

"What if I don't want to Egbert?"

_**Not good! Not good! Not goooooodddddddd!**_ John secretly screamed in his head.

"W-What do I need to do to get you off me?" He questioned recklessly, desperate to get his best bro off his waist.

"Take the fucking Buckley's."

_Gulp._

"F-Fine..." John muttered, turning his head to the side, his cheek resting flat on the bed.

With a satisfied look on whatever John could see of Dave's face, he unscrewed the cap, and leaned backwards to place it on the window sill.

"Ng!" John grunted quietly as Dave shifted back and pressed his ass down further on his waist.

_**My godddddd... someone save meeeee! (TT^TT)** _

John opened his eyes as Dave leaned forward again, and the sound of a thick liquid was heard flowing.

"Okay, open up."

"Guh..."

"..."

Sighing, John brought his face parallel to Dave's and silently opened up wide enough for the liquid to drip into his mouth. "..."

Swallowing, John screwed up his features in distaste and stuck the tip of his tongue out. "Egghhh... Eww! I need something sweet! Quickly!"

John's arms were free now, though they did nothing to help him relieve the bitter taste, as they just flailed as a reaction to the harsh flavor of the medicine.

"Dave! Candy! Hurry!" John could already feel bile rising in his throat. If he didn't get something to wash out the flavor soon, his guts would soon be all over the bed, floor and the two boys.

"Da- mpff!"

John's panicked pleas for a candy were silenced as Dave's mouth covered his own, and the sweet flavor of apple juice was passed from Dave's tongue to John's; a sweet tang spreading to every surface Dave ran his tongue over.

As the blonde pulled back, John whimpered a small, "-ve..." finishing calling his friend's name.

John's eyes opened in shock as his brain processed what just occurred.

Apparently sleeping with your head hanging off the side of the bed slowed down your brain's reactions by ten percent...

The next thought hit him like the flat of a hammer striking his temple.

_**What...!?** _


	3. John's Cold, Dave's Visit: Soup

John Egbert has just kissed his crush.

He should be feeling fortunate to even be able to  _touch_  the lips of that certain person.

The reason?

His crush was a guy. But not just any guy, it had to be Dave.

Dave. Fucking. Strider.

The coolkid.

Yep.

But how he even got to this point, John wasn't sure. At first, when he figured it out, he was in complete and utter denial. He wasn't a homo!

At least, that's what he always tried to tell himself. Apparently, his feelings decided not to listen to reason, and instead, every day spent with Dave was a day well spent.

Now, the day came where a day spent with Dave was a day...  _spent_.

He couldn't even describe it. Here he was, pinned under his crush, his mouth agape as Dave pulled back from the prolonged kiss.

_**How...? What...! I must be delusional! ... Am I... seeing this right? One minute I was about to die from Buckley's, and now...?** _

Getting up slowly, unsure of what to do in this situation, John sat there, silent as Dave slipped off the bed and sat back down on the desk chair.

Finally, the awkward silence had to be broken.

"Uh... Um... " John couldn't think of anything to say. Not like there was much to say when that happens anyway.

All he could do was sit there like the derp he was. His whole face was red, from the base of the neck to his ears.

He was sure he was making an uncomfortable face that was as red as Dave's eyes. He sat there, waiting for a response with his head down in embarrassment, and his arms tucked in between his legs.

"Fuck."

John looked up to see a blush blooming uncharacteristically on Dave's cheeks, reddening them to the same hue as his faded red jacket that was hung on the back of the chair.

**_Dave is blushing?_ **

A small smile came to John's lips and he was about to say something, but was interrupted with his own brutal coughing fit.

_Cough, cough, cough, cough, cough... ... Cough._

John was curled up on his bed, clutching his stomach, the tightened muscles burning with effort. His breaths came out in scratchy, shaky puffs.

Settling down from the bout of violent outbursts, John stayed in the same position, waiting for the pain in his abdomen to subside.

He was vaguely aware of a presence to his left, and soon registered the sensation of a hand on his back, rubbing soothing circles in slow, mesmerizing patterns.

"You ok?" Came Dave's concerned voice.

"Y-  _cough_ \- eah..." John managed to get out.

There was the sound of a cap being opened, and the smell of chicken noodle soup drifted to John's partially plugged nose.

Looking over to the general direction that the mouth watering aroma came from, John saw that Dave had a silver metal thermos with yesterday's promised soup.

John sat there, staring silently as Dave pulled out a spoon from seemingly nowhere, and scooped up some noodles, a chunk of meat, and a whole lot of soup.

Blowing on it gently so the liquid wouldn't fly everywhere, Dave cooled it down.

**_Why is he blowing on it? Aren't I supposed to be the one who's going to eat it? What-_ **

John stopped all thinking as Dave bent over and stretched out his right arm, extending the soup-filled spoon towards John.

"D-Dave, I can feed myself..." He muttured under his breath, face coloring a light pink.

John lifted a shaky arm and attempted to grab the spoon. Unfortunately, his strength was drained just trying to retain his reason while Dave was sitting on him, so his arm just stayed suspended in the air, shaking miserably.

"... And I see you can definitely feed yourself. Yeah. Sure Egbert. Now just open up the hatch."

Reluctantly, John let his arm drop, and hesitantly leaned forward, closed his eyes and opened up; cheeks burning.

He had to admit, he was a bit- okay,  _a lot_  happy at this surprising situation.

 


	4. John's Cold, Dave's Visit: Choked

The first few spoonfuls were a bit awkward, but the atmosphere quickly dropped to normal "temperature" to where both were able to talk again.

"Ahhhh..." Dave ironically crooned, holding out the spoon full of soup.

"Nnn... Dave, I'm too full to eat anymore!" giggled John, his eyes closed and mouth upturned in a playful smile.

"C'mon John, I'm being both ironic and helpful. Now, open up."

"But I'm full!"

_Cough._

"There's no way that you can be full when your stomach's like that." Dave said as he placed a hand on John's relatively flat stomach with a small, light pat.

"Trust me, I'm full!" John says smiling through half closed lids.

"You sure bro?"

The smile on John's face drooped a little at the edges. "...Yeah... I'm sure."

Ouch that one hurt a little. After the kiss, he was still considered a bro?

Putting away the soup, Dave rolled to the computer desk on the chair, sitting on it backwards so his chest was resting lazily against the back rest.

Placing the nearly empty container on the edge of the computer desk, Dave left it with the cap only half closed and quickly turned and rolled his way back to the side of John's bed.

The sting in John's chest subsided, and he scolded his friend for his obvious mistake. "Dave, you've got to screw the cap completely, or it might spill on the floor and the computer!"

_Cough cough._

Rolling back over to the desk, all that came from Dave was an exasperated and sarcastic, "Yes mom~" as he quickly twisted the cap completely closed.

Looking at his crush's broad back, John gave a small giggle from his bed as he thought of a scene he saw from a really old movie he watched with his dad once.

"So, doctor, do you think that I'll be able to recover from this by Friday?"

Dave was frozen for a moment, before turning around dramatically slow in the desk chair with his fingers entwined in the classic villain pose, seemingly getting John's reference to the movie.

"I'm sorry Mr. Egbert, but it seems that you have a temporary illness, and by my calculations will most likely be back on your feet by tomorrow." Dave's voice was deeper than it usually was, making it seem more mature and adult-like, while his head twitched comically for effect every time he paused for a small breath.

Gasping in mock surprise, John put on a shocked face, and put poised hands up to his cheeks, trying to replicate the woman's ridiculous position from the scene where she had found out something had happened to her husband.

Feeling the air build up in his stomach, John struggled to keep his face still, his mouth starting to twitch up at the ends. Dying to let out the giggles bubbling up from his diaphragm, he sat still, waiting to see what would happen next.

A minute or two had past, and after waiting to see if Dave would move from the ridiculous, yet fitting position, John was unable to contain the giddy feeling churning inside him.

Cracking, he allowed himself to burst out in laughter that had a coarse bark at the end, making him sound a bit like a dying walrus or seal or something.

A small grin crept onto Dave's face, and the Strider quickly corrected himself, pulling his features into a straighter poker face and holding it like that.

Instead of showing it on the outside, he let himself laugh on the inside. Although he would never admit it, John was the only one that he would loose a small smirk-smile around.

And John knew this.

It was the only way he had kept his hope up for all these years. First it had started with a small smirk, then it had grown into a tiny, but genuine smile. Now, it had turned into a grin.

_**I really want to see what he looks like with a full-out smile. Hell, he can get me to smile anytime he wants. Even with just a ki-** _

The question that was buried in the back of Egbert's memories came rushing forth, letting out a pitiful whine; begging to be voiced. John turned an almost unnoticeable shade of pink.

_**It's either now or never. Might as well be now. God I hope my voice doesn't crack. Jesus, not now. Please, not now...** _

"D-Dave..."

_Cringe._

"Why did you...  _kiss_  me?"

Dave's body visibly tensed, and the silenced tension in the air was both strained and awkward.

**_Did I get the message wrong? Can I take this as a sign? But bros don't usually kiss, do they? Is it okay if I get my hopes up? Dave? Why won't you say anything?_ **

All the questions were now swirling in Egbert's mind, confusing him to no end. It didn't help that he couldn't hear anything over the pounding of his own heart beating restlessly in his rib cage.

There was still no movement, nor no indication that Dave was going to say anything.

A jolt of needles full of panic started to strike at John's heart, making it wrench painfully.

**_Please tell me you don't hate me... I don't think I can go back to being only friends. How do you feel about me Dave?_ **

John's breaths were beginning to quicken its pace, and the world started to twist precariously, disobeying the rules and laws of gravity.

The room started to go dim, and the corners of his vision started to go black.

_Cough cough cough cough cough cough cough!_

John couldn't breath. The air was rapidly leaving his lungs, the air escaping in his coughs faster than he could suck it in.

This wasn't good.

He was choking.


	5. John's Cold, Dave's Visit: Sleep

"-ohn!"

The world was a pitch black void, and Egbert was just floating in it.

"John! Hey, are yo-"

There was a voice calling him, but who's? It sounded undeniably familiar. It was worried, but calm. Smoothed, but cracked. There was no sarcasm in it anymore, and to the half conscious John, it sounded almost odd.

"Egbert! Dude! Wake up!"

His awareness was fading in and out; almost like the flicker of a dying flashlight before it went out for good.

Except this was opposite. He was waking up...?

_**I can see a... Light? And... A voice... Who's?** _

"Shit."

Something heavy was placed against his chest for a moment, but the heat from it quickly disappeared as it moved to hover above his head.

Something warm was held to the front of his face. His mouth was open, and his nose was pinched closed. He knew that much, but what was pressed against him?

It was soft, and firm, and incredibly comfortable; almost as if he belonged there; as if he was part of a whole, and could be melded into it.

A rush of air entered John's lungs, and the world came crashing back, the light that was once a fair distance away zooming up until if engulfed him, and the colors to his vision returned, bringing back the fading boy.

"John!"

John's eyes fluttered open, revealing unfocused blue eyes. They flickered around the room, finally settling on the platinum blonde.

_Cough cough!_

"John! Speak to me! Jesus! Are you alright?"

John was lying on the floor by his bed, the back of his head supported by one of Dave's large hands.

Wheezing, and gasping for air, John's windpipe was still partially closed, disabling him the right to speak.

_**It was an attack... My puffer!** _

Lifting a weak arm, John pointed a trembling finger towards the computer desk, mainly in the general direction of the top drawer.

"Pu- fer... Pu-"

"Alright. Hold on."

Laying John's head gently on the carpeted floor, Dave briskly got to his feet and opened the appointed drawer with a rough pull, and rummaged through it's contents, searching for the little canister that held his friend's medicine.

Dave returned with a frown still on behind his huge sunglasses, and buried his right hand under John's head, threading his fingers into his hair, and gently scraping John's scalp and lifting him up.

Putting the puffer's opening by John's face, he lifted his friend's face a bit closer. "Here."

Eyes still a bit glazed, and mind slightly fuzzy feeling, John lent forward and latched his mouth to the opening.

The Strider gave a quick push of the button at the top, and a gust of compressed air and medicine filled John's mouth and he greedily sucked it up and held his breath for ten seconds.

_**One... Two... Three... Four... Five... Six... Seven... Eight... Nine... Ten!** _

Feeling the medicine take effect, Egbert breathed out slowly, and let his neck slump against Dave's hold.

There was a stretch of quiet, and the only noises were the sounds of both boys' breathing; John's was ragged and had a slight wheeze at the end, while Dave's was uneven, like he had just recovered from a workout.

Sitting up tenderly, John propped his back against the side of his bed and mumbled sheepishly, "T-Thanks... ... Dave...?"

The blonde didn't say anything. Instead, he rested his forehead on the smaller boy's shoulder, grunting his acknowledgment.

"..."

John couldn't say anything. He had never seen Dave as panicked as he was. It was... Scary...

Moving his arms to wrap around the older boy's shoulders, John hugged Dave against him. Leaning his head on Dave's right shoulder, he took in his scent, trying to calm his pounding heart.

"Dave... I'm sorry. I didn't- I mean- I couldn't- I... I'm sorry..." He weakly stuttered against the smooth skin of Dave's neck.

_**It's so warm...** _

"Don't you ever fucking do that again."

"Huh?" John queried, snapping back to reality.

"You scared the shit out of me there Egderp. One moment you were sitting there, and the next, you're hyperventilating and then coughing your guts out, then you pass out on the floor. Shit, I checked your heartbeat, but you weren't breathing. I had to give you a little mouth-to-mouth resuscitation."

_**Was that sarcasm?** _

"CPR?" John asked tentatively.

"How else am I supposed to get you breathing again, you little dip?"

_**Nope. No sarcasm.** _

"Dave... I'm... I'm sorry for scaring you... I just-" John stopped himself.

_**I don't need an answer. I just want to tell him. I think... I can finally say it.** _

"I... I love you... Dave."

There was no response from the platinum blonde, and for a second, John got a weird sense of déjà vu. For a second, he considered the chance of him getting another anxiety attack.

That thought was quickly cut off when Dave lifted his head and looped one arm underneath John's legs, and the other behind his back and scooped him off the floor; carrying John bridal style and placing him gently on the bed.

Still mute, Dave climbed into the bed after him, taking off John's glasses, and then his own in turn, putting them beside a pillow close to the edge of the bed.

Plopping down on John's left and silently pulling the blue covers up around them, he cocooned them in a wrap of shared warmth.

"D-Dave, I- You..."

A flushed and stuttering John was cut off, as Dave placed a brief kiss on his jawline, moving up to slowly kiss him on a blushing cheek, and then finally a ginger touch on John's forehead.

Plopping back down by John's side, he tucked in the blankets securely around them, and wraped a strong arm around John's waist, hugging him from behind, and burying his face into the younger boy's nest of midnight black hair.

"Sleep."

The tone was final, and John knew not to say anything. It was bad enough that he had passed out, but he had seriously scared the guy.

_**Here comes the guilt**   **trip...**_

Feeling a pang of undeniable fault, John opened his mouth to apologize, and sucked in a breath of air for his long winded apology.

Dave's arm tightened around him, and John paused. The Strider's heartbeat was really fast. He could feel it pulsing against his back.

Closing his mouth, Egbert wriggled in Dave's bear hug, and turned to face him. Craning his neck so that he was level with his friend, he gave him a quick peck on the chin before shifting down and snuggling into Dave's shirt.

"I'm okay... I have  _you_  after all."

If he had looked up, he would have seen a pair of shining crimson eyes watching him with a tender stare.

The restless heartbeat against his ear calmed to a steady and rhythmic throb, lulling the weary boy to sleep.

Cuddled against Dave's chest, John slumbered peacefully, while the Strider held him close, his own thoughts buzzing busily in his irony filled mind.

"I knew that you loved me  _way_  before you admitted it, Egderp." He sleepily whispered into the darkened room.


	6. John's Cold, Dave's Visit: Back To Sleep

The soft rays of light shined partially through John's multiple layers of blankets, lighting up his face in a blue tint, and stirring him from his dreamless sleep.

_**The sun** _ _**again?** _

John breathed in deeply and stretched lazily, only to find something restricting him.

With a slurred "Hnn?", John looked over with half closed lids to land his blurred sight on a face.

A handsome face...

Dave's face...

John's body froze, his muscles taut, and eyes widened in confusion.

_**Dave! ? Wha-** _

He stopped mid-thought as the events of the night before came in colorful bursts of memory.

He had asked Dave why he had kissed him, started getting scared of rejection, hyperventilated, and then started "coughing his guts out," as Dave had put it yesterday... He passed out and then woke up after he received CPR and then...

Then?

Then he was picked up bridal style and put to bed by Dave Strider.

Blooded raced up the veins to his face, and John blushed, trying profusely to beat the heat back down. Focusing again on Dave's face, John made sure to stare at it long enough so that the image was seared into his memory.

Dave had fair skin, despite being almost always exposed to the sun in Texas. He had a large splatter of light freckles across the bridge of his nose, usually hidden by his big aviator sunglasses John had got him for his birthday.

Platinum blonde, an almost non-existent natural color, was reflecting the sunlight that drifted in to John's room gently off Dave's full eyelashes and his slightly ruffled, but still perfect hair.

Dave's face seemed oddly naked without his sunglasses, and John felt that he was a bit closer to the guy without a constant barrier of tinted lenses in his way.

"What are you staring at? My beautiful face?" Dave spoke up without opening his eyes.

John's whole body jumped in surprise as Dave spoke up, his muscles now seized up after the initial spasm, and John had to take a few deep breaths from under the covers to get his racing heartbeat somewhat under control.

Except that he couldn't.

Not with Dave's arms still wrapped tightly around him.

"Uh.. Um... Yeah?" John muttered without thinking.

 ** _Whoops. Wait, what did I just say?_**  John thought, panicking slightly. He had just confirmed that he was staring at his face! He was such an idiot!

"Wait! I mean, no! I-"

Dave's eyes flicked open, and John's breath hitched.

He had only seen Dave's eyes once before, when they had eaten a chocolate bonbon that John had received from his very very distant aunt living in Canada.

The treats had contained alcohol, and after eating the whole box in one go while watching Con Air and Ghostbusters, things started to get messy when the effects kicked in.

Both boys were in a drunken state, but Dave had an unexpected sweet tooth and had eaten most of the chocolate balls, while John had refrained from consuming too much of the sugary substance.

It was because of that, that John was still able to remember that day.

Dave was knocked out cold on the couch, his sunglasses askew, and John a bit tipsy and unsteady on his feet.

His thought process was a bit fuzzy at that time, and while slurring at Dave to get up, he pulled one of his friend's eyelids open only to reveal crimson red eyes.

They were stunningly beautiful. Even more so the second time John saw them.

They just took his breath away.

A smirk formed on Dave's face and John blushed dejectedly, and looked down, unable to keep the rush of heat that came to his face and to quell his quickened heartbeat.

Turning over hastily, still in Dave's strong arms, John did his best to curl up into himself and disappear from the world.

What he got in return was a slight tug on his torso, and a breath of warm air ruffled the top of his head, the short tangled locks of dark black obsidian swaying violently with the sudden gust as Dave sighed noiselessly.

John momentarily looked up, and heard a grunt coming from Dave behind him, and slid his head back to it's original place.

Re-positioning himself, Dave drew John closer and tucked his head under his chin, gaining the additional heat from the body folded in front of him.

"Dave... Um-"

"Shooooshhh... Five more minutes, I'm still tired. It's only 2 in the afternoon anyway," Dave said, his voice a bit rough.

"Uh... okay...?" John said, unsure of what to do.

He might as well just go back to sleep, he could already feel his consciousness slipping...

* * *

A shiver ran through John, and he woke with a start; his back was wet from sweating, and the bangs that usually hung carefree and loose were now plastered to his forehead.

Blinking the sleep from his vision, the first thing that registered was the lack of warmth. And the space.

Big, empty space.

Twisting his head, John found that he could actually move, and stretched his arm out in the general direction in which Dave should have been lying.

John's hand hit nothing but empty space and the bed sheet under it.

"Hmnn...?" John screwed his eyes shut and opened them again, trying to clarify his vision a couple more times before realizing that he wasn't wearing his glasses.

Reaching over with heavy limbs, John groped around his pillow for his glasses. Finding them, he lazily slapped them on his face and looked at the clock across the room, sitting peacefully on the dresser behind the half open door.

_**I still can't see... Where did Dave go? Didn't he say we were going back to sleep?** _

Sitting up, he frowned and took a better look at the clock that read 4:30 pm. He had been asleep for two hours and a half. Judging by the lingering warmth, Dave had only woken up a few minutes before him.

Pushing the rumpled blankets off his lower half, John slid out of bed and tested his legs. They were steady enough for him to walk.

Standing up a bit shakily at first, Egbert opened the door that was left ajar, and slipped silently through it.

Still half asleep, John moved slowly down the hall and stopped by the bathroom. The shower was on. Listening, he could hear his dad in the background humming as he cooked dinner.

_**Dave must be using the shower. I'll just bathe after dinner then.** _

Trudging down the polished wood steps, he made his way to the kitchen where he mumbled a short "what's for dinner?" as he passed his dad and lumbered off to the living room without receiving an answer.

Flopping onto the couch, John stretched his limbs, yawned, and then grabbed the remote sitting on the black coffee table and turned the TV on.

Just in time, the Ghostbusters theme song started. That was also when Dave turned the shower off. 


	7. John's Cold, Dave's Visit: Now Or Never

" _If there's something strange in your neighborhood Who ya gonna call? GHOSTBUSTERS!_ "

The opening theme of John's favorite show was now playing in the background, far away from his consciousness.

The only thing on his mind now was Dave.

The Strider was standing there at the top of the staircase with a towel hanging from his left shoulder, his regular black jeans on and no shirt.

 _ **No shirt... No shirt... No shirt...**_ John's head echoed.

Quickly realizing that his eyes were widened and his mouth slightly open, John shut his mouth, quickly forming a thin line.

His eyes darted around, going anywhere but Dave; downcast blue orbs staring intently at the carpet strands had suddenly found that this had turned more interesting than staring at his best friend's abs.

With small traces of redness still on his cheeks, John shifted in the couch so that his position was reversed and his feet were facing the staircase.

"Evening Dave!" John said while putting on his best buck-toothed grin. There was no way he was going to let things get awkward between them right after he confessed.

John was pretty sure that he knew Dave's answer anyway.

"Good morning," came Dave's monotone reply as he casually slipped on his shirt.

"Wouldn't it be evening? It's already, like, 4:45 pm in the evening." John said with a small smile.

"I just woke up, so it's morning to me." Dave mused with a smirk as he took a seat beside John's outstretched legs on the overly deflated couch.

"That makes sense..." John said with sarcasm and a mocking, but jokingly playful smile.

"Mhm." Dave consented distractedly.

Dammit, the mood was already dying.

A waft of mouth watering scents drifted in from the kitchen. It smelled like chili.

John's dad stepped in at that moment and cocked his head to the kitchen. It was time for dinner.

Looking over his right shoulder and tilting his head so that his voice could be heard over the couch, John called to his dad's retreating back, "Coming!"

Folding his legs in, he avoided hitting Dave's back and then swiveled on his butt to put his legs on the carpeted floor.

Standing up, his knees buckled as he was about to take a step, and suddenly the ceiling replaced the spot where the TV was originally; swirling lights from the kitchen, the living room and the TV's HD colors all mixing together.

_**Ah?** _

That was the only thought that could enter John's head before something stopped his descent on the way to the floor.

John blinked in confusion and felt a warm hand on his back. Looking to his right, Dave's face was dangerously close to his, studying him.

Dave had caught John with his left hand only and was still standing like he had been in the same position all along; it was only Egbert out of place and all bent up.

A concerned, "You alright dude?" came from Dave's mouth and John could see his lips move before he heard his smooth voice.

"Y-yeah... I think so...?" Taking a staggering step backwards, John steadied himself and heaved forwards, dragging his head to once again line up vertically with his shoulders.

Dave let John rest some of his weight against his shoulder, and when John pushed off, steady on his feet, he was kinda sad for the loss of warmth coming from his body...

But his hand was still on John's back, reassuring and friendly.

When they reached the kitchen, John's dad noticed the small gesture and gave an expression that asked, ' _Are you okay son? You look a bit pale._ '

"I'm fine." John said quietly, with a small smile to prove his point.

As they sat down to eat dinner, Dave's warm touch on his back was replaced by the icy spread of the metal backing of the chair.

"Looks like we're having chili for dinner," John said with little enthusiasm

* * *

They didn't eat much, it turned out, well at least John didn't think he did.

He was too busy thinking of Dave's reply... or rather, the lack of reply.

It was no use asking him again if he was just going to brush off the question, he might as well ask him after the big gig, if that meant that he could keep Dave's mind free of distractions during the job.

John knew how much this performance meant to him.

But still, the question was bothering him, pestering him in the most annoying way possible; popping up when he was in the shower or about to go to sleep, during his favorite shows and movies, and generally appearing any time John let his mind wander.

_**Maybe I should ask? What harm would it do? There's still two more days until the gig, I can get the answer and everything will be back to-** _

John hesitated.

**_No... Not normal... I don't think things can really be normal now, but things will be cleared up at least._ **

Or at least he hoped.

"John."

"Huh?" Too late, John looked up from his deep contemplation and ran smack into the door of his bedroom.

Stumbling back, hands covering the wound on his forehead, John more or less fell into the Strider's waiting arms.

"Ouch. You sure you're okay? You've been really spaced out and weird lately." Dave said, lifting John's hand from the spot on his forehead to reveal a small bruise.

 _ **Who's fault do you think it is?!**_  John wanted to scream.

"Yeah..." Is what came out instead.

Dave gave a light squeeze with his left arm and John realized he was still being held by Dave, who was leaning against the wall opposite of the door.

Lowing his right arm from Dave's grip, John looked down, blushing a light red and stood up, separating himself from Dave.

He merely grabbed the handle with some unnecessary force and pushed open the door, walking in to the messy room without a word, Dave trailing silently behind.

The choice was John's.

Ask him? Or don't ask him?

Push? Or don't push?

Dave sat down on the chair and let himself rotate slowly from the force of the action.

John sat down on his bed, and the deja vu began.

It was now or never.


	8. John's Cold, Dave's Visit: Till The Gig

"... Dave."

The platinum blonde looked up with an eyebrow cocked at the confused but determined voice that addressed him.

"I want an answer. Do you like me?" John said without hesitation this time.

"What do you mean Egbert?"

"You know, in that way?"

"Depends on what 'that way' means."

John puffed out his cheeks in frustration. It was obvious Dave knew what he meant, but he was either being a really big jerk right now or toying with him.

It was easier for both of them though if John just specified what he meant.

"I mean... Do you love- like-  _whatever_ \- me romantically?"

Dave smirked. "Can I choose 'whatever you romantically' as an option?"

John was angry now. He wanted an answer and Dave wasn't giving one.

 _ **I guess it's time for a different approach.**_  John thought menacingly.

John put on a small pout and widened his eyes only slightly, letting the blue color of his eyes be framed in white.

"Daaaavvveeeee..." John whined exaggeratedly, looking up at his best bro and crush.

Dave's smirked widened, and John knew he wasn't getting anywhere with this.

John dropped the act, and decided to just let his feelings show. "Please just tell me your answer already." he said with a bitter tone and a bit of a scowl at the end.

Dave got up and walked across the room to where John was sitting on the bed. he didn't remember him being that far when they first sat. Dave must have been discreetly scooting away.

John bit his lower lip as Dave leisurely waltzed over to him. Why must he be so slow?

Dave reached John and leaned down, bending at the torso and placing a hand on John's left shoulder.

Putting his mouth to John's ear, the blond whispered, "I'll tell you my answer after the gig, fair?"

The Strider's breath tickled John's neck and ruffled his long sideburns. Dave blew lightly into the shell of John's ear through his nose and bit lightly on the lobe, his canine grazing the pink skin lightly.

John jumped, heart leaping up and suddenly racing a marathon.

Dave leaned back and studied his work. "You're all red now. You sure you're okay?"

John nodded, not quite sure if it was the fever returning or if it was him blushing. He was pretty sure it was the latter though.

"I gotta go now, I'll see ya soon." Dave moved past John and picked up his neglected backpack sitting in the corner of the room beside the dresser and slung it on his back.

John followed him out the room, dazed, and took hesitant steps down the stairs. His head was swimming with thoughts, and his vision was being affected.

By the time John reached the floor, Dave was out the front door saying, "Bye Mr. Egbert, see ya John," leaving a Daddy Egbert standing there with a freshly baked vanilla cake in his oven-mitted hands and with an expression that said, ' _But I just made cake..._ '

John sighed and said, "I'll have some."

He didn't really like eating cake- in fact, he detested it after having it so many times. But it was nice to have a distraction from all these confusing thoughts and feelings of anxiety.

 _ **I guess my only option now is to wait until the gig day.**_  John thought forlornly while placing a piece of white fluffy cake in his mouth and grimacing at the taste.

_Betty Crocker._


	9. Friday: Big Gig

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just cause I really wanted to try, I'll be writing in Dave's POV for a couple of chapters. ;)

It's cold.

Cold, cold, cold.

Too damned cold.

Today was Friday, The big day.

Your gig was today, and John was coming to watch you perform.

 _ **I haven't talked to him in almost two days**_ , you realize as you near the building's double glass doors.

Great. How were supposed to explain the absence of Strider in his household?

 _ **A guy doesn't need to spend every single day at his best bro's house.**_  You console yourself in the back of your mind.

The last you saw of Egbert was Wednesday at his house after you fell asleep with him in his cramped bed when he had recovered from his sudden attack, scaring the shit out of you.

That day was also the night you told the guy that you would give an answer to his confession.

You think of your answer as you push at the icy wall of glass standing between you and the warmth of a heated building.

Stepping into the bright lobby, cream white color from every surface assaults your eyes, even behind the pair of shades you've got on.

A pudgy man in a black suit comes up to you and starts talking really fast with an Italian accent. His face is red and swollen, a shine of sweat on his bald forehead reflecting light into your eyes.

You scowl and he jumps, instantly shutting up. Good. You couldn't understand him anyway.

Stammering something like, "H-h-h-here! I w-will take yo-you t-to s-s-stage!", he leads you down a hallway to the right and through a door that is black with white swirling patterns on it.

He opens it reverently to reveal a staircase made of concrete that has probably seen better days.

He holds the door open and you step through it, noticing for the first time as you pass him, that the guy is tiny. Like midget tiny. No offense to midgets, but he barely comes up to your waist, and suddenly the small size reminds you of John.

Why John, you have no idea, but it probably has to do about something with him only being at your shoulder height. He was small too. Actually, it you were to give him a hug, he'd only come up to your collar bone.

A smile threatens to break out on your ever-present poker face, and you switch gears, thinking of your stage time.

Your performance is after a band called Black Igloo, a punk rock band focusing on the troubles of First-Nations peoples compared to modern society.

The pudgy man leads you down the stairs, and the lights on the side of the hallways you walk down start to dwindle, making it darker as you go along.

 ** _This seems kind of shady..._** You think passively, walking with your hands in your pockets.

Walking without hesitating and never missing a beat, you stop when the manager of the building stops before a dingy door with a golden star on it.

The pudgy man steps to the side and gives a sweeping motion towards the door. You step forward once and catch the engraving of your name in the star, even though it is almost pitch black and you have sunglasses on.

Swinging the door open in one smooth motion, it reveals a well-kept room, clad with costumes of every color, feathers sticking out of every surface and rubbery skin suits shining on racks placed at the back.

**_Wonder if they'll let me wear the skin suits..._ **

You step fully into the room instead of standing at the doorway like a dolt and silently make your way to a mirror that is encased in light bulbs that shine a bit too brightly for your preference.

"Mr. Strider, this will be your prep room. You'll be on in a couple of minutes, so please wait here until a runner calls for you. I'll meet you after your performance. Good luck, and break a leg!"

You glance back and nod, dismissing the guy without saying anything.

Looking to the right, a mirror has it's light shut off and you shift to sit in front of it, looking at your reflection up close.

Damn you look good.

That is one fine piece of Strider staring back at you there.

A knock on the rough wood of the door makes you shift in your Hollywood seat and face the person who just stepped in with a basket in their arms.

The tall man reads from a tag, "This is addressed to a Mr. Strider?"

You say, "That's me," and take the basket from him.

Your arms sink a little at the weight, and you can't help but wonder,  ** _what the fuck is in here?_**

Walking stiffly back to the counter top, you set the basket down and study it. It's big enough to hold a melon or two, and was covered with a red blanket. A small note was attached to a handle.

It read, " _Dear Strider, we have been watching your performances and we wish you the best for today. Love, your biggest fans._ "

Time to open the present from your secret admirers.

Peeling back the red cloth, you struggle to contain a strangled cry of joy.

The basket was filled with apple juice.

 _APPLE_ _JUICE_.

You stand there, a bit shocked, trying desperately to not flip your shit.

You manage to beat down the dorky smile fighting to grab onto your face, and settle for a smirk instead.

 _ **I think I like this fan club**_ , you decide.

Settling down, you pull out the first drinking box, inserting the straw and sipping idly while listening to the cheers of the crowd as Black Igloo starts their gig.

You're on your tenth box by the time Black Igloo gets to the last song, and you stretch back your arm to throw the empty and shriveled box that you sucked dry into the waste basket.

And right before you release, assured that it was going to go in, you cough.

Not just any cough, but a wet cough. A  _sick_  cough.

You frown, not quite sure where that came from.

But it starts again. A string of coughs are now leaving your mouth, and you're thinking,  _ **oh shit... this is not good...**_

You're sick. On your gig day. Great. Just fucking great.

There's a knock on your door, and a guy's voice says, "You're on in two minutes! Come outside and line up at the side of the stage!"

By now, you're starting to stress and desperately try and quell the itchy urges to just heave up your stomach.

You get up, pull open the door, and step out. You start trailing after the guy with a head mic, walking down the hallway, towards the sound of cheers.

The coughs are getting worse, and on the worst of them, you let them leave through your nose, and without meaning to, you release a breath you've been holding.

Feeling a bit light headed, you register that your heart beat has accelerated, but it's not from the anxiety; it's from the cold - or fever - that you caught from John.

The guy with the head mic leads you up steps, and tells you to wait while he appears on stage and introduces you.

" _Here is Dave Strider!_ " Your name echoes, and then there is a loud scream and applauding.

Another cough escapes from your mouth, scratching at your throat.

Starting to seriously stress now you keep your face impassive. No time to freak out.

Right now it's show time.

Your ready; ready to blow people's ears off with your awesome beats.

And so, you step onto the stage; game-face on, and aviators dark.


	10. Friday: Cough

This is it; the moment you've been waiting for.

You climb the steps without betraying the spinning of your head and the cloudiness in your sight, and calmly walk up to the fire-red turn tables they so kindly set up for you beforehand.

Reaching them, you stop behind it and the crowd holds a breath; you know all eyes are on you. It's the perfect time to start.

This is the moment where you walk down the path to fame, and when your sick beats travel across the known universe in glory.

You press a button in the center of the turntables and the records start to spin in slow circles.

Too slow.

You like your songs to have a fast, rhythmic and mesmerizing beat. You turn a nob down and to the left, and the disc's speed jumps a tempo.

Lightly lifting the needle to rest on your index finger, you place the thin point at the very outside of the record.

There is silence accompanied by the static that comes before the song starts. 2 more seconds...

Cracking your knuckles with audible pops, you position your hands over the smooth black discs that have always been your confidants.

You had made two discs prior to the gig that were made up of two giant remixes of your favorite songs. They were already Strider-upped, but once you put both of them together, you'd have an immediate eargasm.

Your fingers lightly touch the ridged surfaces of the discs, and you immediately relax. Your shoulders slump forward a little, and the crease between your eyebrows ease.

The first 'dun-dun-ta-da-tss' of the drum starts from the record and you let a small smile come onto your face before you push your right hand forward in an elegant arc.

You flick your wrist a couple of times; flip a switch; turn up the volume; and then you know it's time to add the other record.

Placing the needle on the left plate, you start this one at a slower tempo, overlapping them so that there is never a stop or break in the middle of the song.

Bopping your head along like a bobble head of an anime girl figure in Bro's car, you let the flowing of the music you spent nights on carry you away to an alternate world of sick beats and clever rhymes.

There are sharp notes and then rounded ones, going fast and then moderately slow; all of them melding into one bigger piece of the puzzle.

A girl from the crowd screams and then shouts in unison with some of you other groupies, "WE LOVE YOU STRIDER!"

You nod in their direction, and most of them swoon at the sight. One of them looked as if she fainted.

Oh, no time to worry about that now, your favorite part is coming up.

' _And we can shareeee this oneee t-t-t-timmeeee~ C'mon baby! C'mon baby! You know youuu~ wanttt~ ittt!'_

You sing along with the lyrics under your breath while you draw your arm back in a curve and then hit those perfectly timed notes in short consecutive bursts.

The poker face you hold present at all times has a chip in it, allowing a small dorky grin to seep out onto your face.

You don't even care at the moment.

Bro would give you hell for it later... if he ever found out. Which he would. He always does.

Screams and cheers break you out of the horrible thoughts of what Bro might do to you, and all you can hear is one chant:  _'SING! SING! SING!'_

The cold claws at your throat, but you beat the itching back down with sheer will power. There is no way you are going to show that you're sick on stage.

Placing on a smirk, you open your mouth to add some Strider earcandy to the mix of already killer beats.

What comes out is this hideous dry snake of a cough, entwining through your awesome creation, throwing them off the charts completely.

The crowd goes silent, wondering, ' _What the fuck was that?_ '

The music is still ebbing out from the large speakers behind you, and you have enough time to recover to scan the crowd and see two blue orbs that you would recognize anywhere.; a terrified look is on John's face, his eyes wide and round in shock and mouth pressed in a thin line.

You're a Strider; and you just messed up.

The last thing to go through your mind:

_**Oh shit...** _

 


	11. Friday: Backstage

_**Ohcrapohcrapohcrap! Shit.** _

Your eyes are still on John, and behind the shades, in the darkness, and through the flashing strobe lights, you see his lips move.

He's mouthing something and you can tell it's urgent with the way his eyes are wide and frantic, and the various hand motions that actually make it hard to recognize what he's trying to tell you.

You squint harder behind your aviators to make out what he's saying, and you finally catch it and piece it together.

 _Wing it_ , he says, forming the syllables a bit sloppily with his buck teeth in the way. He forms an invisible ice cream cone in his hand and then coughs into it.

Something clicks into place and you know you're going to have to thank John for this later. Not that you couldn't have come up with something like this without his help.

 _ **Good thing I'm a Strider,**_  You think precariously, as you take the time to plan a devious smile, and cough into the mic again, this time hitting the record button, and playing it on repeat.

"It's time to kick this up a notch," you smoothly whisper devilishly into the mic.

Soon the cough is appearing every five seconds, and you start adding some odd, but matching beats to cover up the mistake, making it seem like the whole thing is one pounding heartbeat.

The rhythm throbs and the strobe lights flicker to match the pulsating music, adding to the flashing effects. You've gotten the audience captivated, and you know it.

At first, they stare, dumbfounded. The next moment, they're off their chains like thirsty bloodhounds, howling their approval. Another quick glance into the crowd, and you spot the blue saucers you're so fond of: John's eyes.

They're round and disbelieving.

He knows that you made a small trip, but hell, you came back swaggering more than before. All the anxiety is gone now, and you let yourself be carried away with the pounding of the music, the rough hacking of the crowd as they "sing along" to your "cough".

* * *

The crowd's whoops and cheers follow you off the stage and into the dressing room, where you can finally sit down. Closing the door behind you, the screams from your fans become muffled and distant.

Makes you wonder whether it's the cold or if it's just that the acoustics suck down here.

Placing your awesome little ass on the director's chair, you reach into your apple juice basket (as you now call it) and pull out a box, inserting the straw and sipping slowly.

Soon, you space out, and the world sharpens again when the door to your dressing room bursts open, making you splutter a bit while you drink the third last box of apple juice from the basket.

A beaming John is standing in the doorway, his face a bit reddish from a blush across his nose bridge. Right. The answer to the confession.

You stand up, and immediately regret it when the world spins and you stumble in front of John. His happy face turns concerned in a second flat, and what seems like a flash, he's buy your side, holding you up.

You wouldn't go down from some fucking cold. That just wasn't cool.

Smirking, you stand up as straight as you can manage, croaking,"I didn't know you could flash step."

"Dave, you're sick!" John almost screams while biting furiously at his bottom lip.

"Nah, I'm not. I'm fine."

Then what was it that made the world spin? If you think back to all the time you've spent with Egbert while he was sick, it comes as a no-brainer that you caught A LOT of virus cells... most likely you lapped it up when you kissed him and snorted it up while you snuggled the shit out of him while he was asleep.

"You're not," he replies firmly.

"I-"

The world does a one-eighty on you and suddenly down is up, and side is down, and up is diagonal?

 ** _I'm fine..._**  You think hazily before you feel the impact of the ground hitting you in the right shoulder.


	12. Friday: An Ambiguous Answer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Normal POV now :3 (Dave, third person omniscient.. kinda). This will have a bit of... lemon-ish stuff? Not quite full on but... ah, you'll see. -_-

**_Sniffling?_ **

Flinching as something hit his freckled cheek, Dave mumbled something before forcing his eyelids open against the dead weight that lingered in his body.

Heavy eyelids sluggishly quivered open, crimson meeting a wet blue that shined with barely existent tears.

_**Egbert?** _

Groaning lightly, Dave lifted his head an inch before dropping it back on something relatively squishy. It was John's lap. He was resting on the flat of his thighs, his back still touching the cold tiles of the dressing room; giving him chills.

His cheek stung. Lifting a hand to touch the sore spot on his face, he glanced up at John who hovered above him, his eyes shifting back and forth between Dave and random spots around the room, biting his lip as if he were guilty.

"Dave, you awake? I had to slap you... You wouldn't get up. Sorry."

"Yeah. I'm fine. Sorry for scaring you bro."

"... I made you sick." John confessed, eyes finally training on his and full of guilt.

"Nnhf," Dave grunted while trying to get up. His hands were clammy, and his palms kept slipping against the floor. Regardless, he persevered.

"Dave, you shouldn't stress out your body! It'll make things worse," John said, eyes a bit wet. He pushed Dave's shoulders down, trying to get him back on his lap to rest, but only succeeding half-way.

Dave stilled and said rather unironically, "What's stressing me out is seeing you cry like that."

John locked onto the Strider's sunglasses and stared, trying to see through the tinted lenses to make sure that he was getting the right message.

The poker face was still unreadable as ever.

Wiping the moisture from the corner of his eyes, he mumbled weakly, "I'm not crying. It's sympathy pain ... for you getting hit... by me..."

"Yeah, sure Egderp."

Getting up into a sitting position from where he half-lay-half-sat on John's lap, Dave started to get up, looking perfectly fine, saying, "Thanks."

Extending a hand to John, Dave easily pulled his best friend up from where he sat on the floor.

"Let's go home, I'll drive." John suggested, hoping that Dave would be able to survive the hour and half drive back.

"Yeah, sure," Dave agreed, grabbing his jacket and passing a fretting John as he started towards the door. He paused with his hand on the doorknob and looked over his shoulder at the black haired teen behind him.

"Before that though," Dave said, letting go of the brass knob and walking over to Egbert, "I still haven't given it to you yet."

"Huh? Given me what?" John muttered before Dave leaned down with his hands in his pockets and jacket forgotten on a chair by the door.

The kiss was slow and inviting, just a soft touch of lips brushing over each other. The feeling was warm and made John's spine tingle with some unknown electricity that shot sparks through his nervous system.

"... The answer." Dave whispered vaguely.

Dave pulled back to look John in the eyes. Though he probably couldn't see Dave's eyes through the shades he had on, the blond could still scan the other's blue orbs and discern that John wasn't processing it.

Maybe he needed another push.

Dave leaned in again, this time bumping their foreheads together before going in for a rough kiss, this one more rushed than the first.

Dave pushed forward, and John responded by opening his mouth to breath. Taking the fortunate chance, Dave decided to go for it. Tongue and all.

The smaller issued a small moan that could be considered a mouse's squeak before the back of his calves hit the edge of a couch in front of the costume rack, and he fell back onto the cushions.

Placing a knee on the cushion beside John's thigh and a hand on the top of the couch beside his head, Dave leaned in further, both of them inhaling thickly and laboriously.

A large hand found it's way to the hem of John's white shirt from underneath his plain knitted sweater, and made it's way up stealthily; slipping under the fabric and sneaking along goosebump-ridden skin.

A darker shade of pink- almost red at this point- painted itself across John's face, the brilliant color visible even behind the black tinted aviators.

The broken kiss was soon remedied, and their shared breath fogged up their glasses. Dave's heartbeat was racing a mile a minute, and there was nothing to stop it from pounding right out of his chest.

It was somewhat scary to feel like that, but exhilarating nonetheless.

Though, maybe the adrenaline running through him wasn't the best at this moment. The room began to spin and his body dropped like all the strength in him was nonexistent.

Dave's head hit John's shoulder, and he fell flat against the smaller's chest. The remaining feeling he had left in his limbs were just enough to keep him from falling backwards off the couch.

Instead, the Strider opted to straddle Egbert and wait till he recovered so he could continue. But for the moment, he felt as boneless as a rag doll.

"Dave!? Hey!" The platinum blond could hear the panic rising in John's voice.

He calmed him down by saying, "Just wait till I recover a bit. Then let's head home."

With the way he said it, it sounded almost ambiguous.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm Back!~ O u O
> 
> ...
> 
> ._. yep.


	13. Friday: Promise For Tomorrow

John took in a deep breath and sighed through his nose, wheezing a bit at the task of carrying the weight of one dead Dave up the stairs to his bedroom.

It was a miracle they made it home that night. Dave had been groaning almost the whole car ride back, and the numerous potholes in the ground didn't seem to help the cause of the noise.

Around mid-way through the highway, Dave took on a fever and started shivering uncontrollably in his seat; the windows in the car fogging up because Dave was breathing so heavily. John came close to panicking right along with him, so he stopped at the nearest convenience store and bought some Aspirin.

John's house was closer than Dave's, which was still about a half hour away. John settled for his house, seeing as how they were both exhausted from the damn cold they somehow caught.

John wasn't even sure as to where or from whom he caught it from.

Maybe it was because of Karkat. That guy was always up in his face screaming something at him. More than a couple of times he got his spit on his face when he was raging, which was, well, almost always.

Kicking the blue painted door to his bedroom open, John stepped in with a whimper of relief. Dave didn't look it, but he was pretty heavy.

If he were awake, Dave would have probably just said that it was the weight of his balls or the perplexing awesomeness that came with being him that made up most of his weight.

John nodded to himself as he flopped a slumbering Dave on his bed. Yeah, something like that.

Letting out a heavy breath, John sank to his knees beside his bed and lent his forehead on Dave's chest. The stuttering but steady rise and fall was almost hypnotic, and John started to feeling drowsy.

The heat from his breath caught in Dave's shirt and made John's face feel hot. The lack of oxygen reminded him of the kiss Dave gave him in the backstage room and soon John's mind was reeling with all the emotions roiling through him.

**_Dave said yes. He kissed me. Did he wanted to continue? What does "Wait till I recover" mean? Oh gosh he kissed me._ **

Of course John wasn't so dumb as to ignore the fact that the way Dave said it most likely meant that they would do the same or even more of what happened in the stage room.

A shiver ran through John and settled at the pit of his stomach at the thought. Dave's hands were probably skilled and rough with calluses after hours of meddling with his turn tables and his strifes with Bro. John pushed away the thought of those hands roaming his body and refocused his attention on the platinum blonde's sleeping face. Now was not the time.

As if to prove that point, Dave groaned and coughed up a long series of hacks that made John wonder if he would die in his sleep.

Reluctantly getting up from his spot on Dave's chest, John picked up the platinum blonde's dangling limbs that hung off the side of the bed and tucked them in neatly. Next, he pulled a blanket over Dave and went downstairs to get a glass of water, since he knew that Dave would wake up in the middle of the night thirsty. It was the same for him.

Returning to his room, he was not expecting Dave to be sitting up, shades off, eyes open and staring at him as he slipped through the door.

The sight of two crimson orbs following him in the dark unsettled John in a way that sent electricity coursing down his back, leaving his spine rigid as he walked up to his computer desk and placed the two glasses down with a too-loud-for-this-time-of-night "clink".

Biting at his bottom lip, John turned and walked slowly over to his bed where Dave spread his arms like a kid waiting to be picked up. Without hesitation, John crawled onto the bed and silently slipped into his arms, head against the place where Dave's heart pounded against his rib cage.

"I'm continuing," Dave rasped. He tilted John's face up to look him in the eye and dived into a kiss that left his counterpart breathless.

"You're sick," John managed to get out between kisses alternating from his neck to his lips.

"You are too."

A compulsion to look up made John glance at the blonde's face, which was sweating and strained. John scoured Dave's face with his eyes before dipping his head back down, completely red.

"Damn your libido."

Dave hummed low in his chest and leaned to the side, his back sliding against the wall before flopping into the warmth of the sheets, John still in his arms.

Nestling his face into the crook of the blonde's neck, John breathed out a silent chuckle, air tickling Dave's collarbone.

In response, Dave closed his eyes and nuzzled into John's hair falling asleep to the soothing scent. His breathing evened out to a slow rise and fall.

 _ **Looks like Dave will have to keep his promise until** **tomorrow**_ , John mused quietly to himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "... And then dey had the hot yaois together and jawn wispered...'5ever'"
> 
> (My friend wrote an alternate ending and I just couldn't bring myself to get rid of it XD)


End file.
